


102 Keeps Me By Your Side

by shenala



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, happy birthday bucky, infinity war didn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenala/pseuds/shenala
Summary: A few Bucky birthdays on his 102nd.10th March 1917 - It was a cool, crisp and clear night when the first cry broke through the darkness. From his seat at the kitchen table, George Barnes whipped his head up with a crack at the sound, a smile instantly replacing the strain that had called his face home for the previous hours as he'd been left with nothing to do other than listen as his wife struggled through the birth of their first child above him.Finally allowed to see Winifred and their newborn, George barely spared the woman who'd been assisting a glance as he stepped forward to take his son into his arms for the first time. Cradling the precious bundle in his arms, he stroked a gentle finger over his son's impossibly soft forehead and greeted him with his new name, "Nice to meet you, James Buchanan Barnes, you're going to be a hero."





	102 Keeps Me By Your Side

**10th March 1917** \- It was a cool, crisp and clear night when the first cry broke through the darkness. From his seat at the kitchen table, George Barnes whipped his head up with a crack at the sound, a smile instantly replacing the strain that had called his face home for the previous hours as he'd been left with nothing to do other than listen as his wife struggled through the birth of their first child above him.

Finally allowed to see Winifred and their newborn, George barely spared the woman who'd been assisting a glance as he stepped forward to take his son into his arms for the first time. Cradling the precious bundle in his arms, he stroked a gentle finger over his son's impossibly soft forehead and greeted him with his new name, "Nice to meet you, James Buchanan Barnes, you're going to be a hero."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **10th March 1924; Aged 7** \- "Happy Birthday, Buck!" was the first sign of his best friend's approach. Spinning with a bright grin, Bucky slipped his arm into its near permanent position around Steve's shoulders.

The pair had only become friends a few weeks earlier after Bucky had intervened when Steve had been taking on bullies twice his size... again, but after introducing himself as "James Buchanan Barnes" the blonde had declared that he would call him "Bucky" instead. Naturally, the only response to that was for Bucky, in turn, to declare "that's ok, we're best friends now", and so they were.

"I got you a present Buck, I mean it's not much but.." Steve began hesitantly, a shy smile crooking his lips.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Stevie."

With a shrug, Steve pulled a small, thin package wrapped in newspaper from his pocket and handed it over.

Bucky made sure to open it carefully, taking his time to unfold the paper and show the gift the respect anything given by Steve Rogers deserved, until he was able to see, nestled in the newspaper, a single red pencil.

"Thanks, Steve! It's my favourite colour!"

The blush that Bucky was already indescribably fond of crept up the smaller boy's cheeks as he kept his gaze on his scuffed shoes and nodded, "yeah Bucky, that's why I got that one."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **10th March 1933; Aged 16** \- Because of the cold weather (it was March after all) the pair were holed up in Bucky's bedroom; one of them fiddling with some scraps of metal and the other sketching their companion's studious expression.

Carefully tearing the finished drawing out of his sketchbook, Steve handed it over with an exaggerated flourish, "Sorry I haven't gotten you anythin' else Buck, I'll make it up to you next year?"

Bucky chewed on his lip silently for a few moments, oblivious to the worry he was stirring in his best friend as he did so, before turning to the blonde and clearing his throat as he fought to maintain eye contact. "Well, you could make it up to me now Stevie... I mean, if ya wanted.. or if not.." He stumbled over his words as Steve merely held his gaze without reaction.

Dropping his chin, Bucky shook his head and mumbled a quick "never mind". Before he could fall too deep into despair however, he was startled back to the present as a chilled hand, always chilled, pressed to the back of his neck. Jerking his head up in surprise he barely had time to notice how close Steve had moved when a pair of warm, slightly chapped lips were pressed to his own for just a second before moving away.

They didn't move far though as Bucky chased them desperately, his hand grasping the nape of Steve's neck as it mirrored the long, nimble fingers tangling in the short hairs at the base of his own skull.

"Best birthday ever" he would later whisper against golden hair, arms wrapped tightly the slim, and in his eyes perfect, figure of his oldest friend.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **10th March 1937; Aged 20** \- It was dark by the time Bucky stumbled back into the apartment he shared with Steve. He'd left before the other man was awake that morning and after working a double shift down at the docks, he was more than ready to just collapse into their threadbare couch. Maybe he could convince Steve to give him a foot rub, he wondered to himself as he toed off his boots at the door.

It took only a few steps further for him to realize that Steve had other plans.

Dressed in a shirt, tie and slacks, there wasn't a single fleck of paint on Steve, for once, as he stood next to their rickety kitchen table.

"What's all this Stevie?"

The table, usually covered in scraps of paper from Steve's work, was instead draped in a simple, but pretty, floral tablecloth. On top of which sat two place settings made up of their least chipped crockery and the two wine glasses that they kept for special occasions. And in the centre, there was a single red rose set in a jam jar. The scene was completed by a couple of candles, also in jars, littering the kitchen worktop.

Stepping forward to wrap the taller man into his arms, Steve pressed kisses to the base of Bucky's throat where his shirt was open. "Wanted to do somethin' special for my best guy's birthday. Ya like it?"

"Like it? I love it, Stevie. It's perfect, thanks, sweetheart."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
**10th March 1944; Aged 27** \- Bucky wasn't entirely sure where they were exactly, but knew that they were somewhere west of Czechoslovakia after their last mission had been storming a Hydra factory there.

He wasn't sure he particularly cared where they were either, to be honest. All he knew was that they'd found an abandoned farmhouse with no enemy nearby; it was dry, there was a river to wash in, and most importantly, there were actual beds.

After a simple meal with the rest of the Howlies, Steve pulled Bucky up from his chair and nudged him towards the stairs as he bid the men goodnight.

"Night Cap, Sarge", "Don't let the bedbugs bite", "It's not the bedbugs that'll be biting!" and "Happy Birthday Sarge" echoed behind them as they climbed up towards the bedroom they'd claimed earlier that day.

Now Bucky wouldn't say that he'd been expecting anything from Steve that night, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been hoping, so when his Captain instructed him to remove his clothes and lie face down on the bed he was more than happy to comply.

His excitement only grew as he felt the solid weight straddling his legs and warm hands, always warm, grasping his waist.

But then there was a hot breath on his neck and words being muttered into his ear, "Relax Buck, that's not what this is. Not tonight."

He started to protest but was quickly silenced.

"Hush Buck, I know things are different now, and I don't just mean me. There's something in your eyes since Azzano, not surprising after what they put you through yeah, but you're always so tense, you never just rest."

Steve's final words were punctuated by his strong yet still nimble fingers pressing into the tight muscles of his lower back, pulling a groan from Bucky's lips.

"If you don't want me to, I won't Bucky. You know that. But I want to take care of you for a change. Please?"

Bucky knew that had he been looking at Steve then he would be on the receiving end of a pair of pleading blue eyes but just the simple fact that Steve had said "please" made his request one that Bucky was unable, and unwilling, to deny. Settling for a simple nod in place of words he settled himself more comfortably onto the sheets and waited for Steve to begin.

Those heavenly hands returned to his skin moments later, this time their journey smoothed by what he determined was oil, this confirmed by Steve's quiet aside, "it's lavender, I diluted it so it's not too strong, I was hoping it might help you sleep." A quiet grunt of assent was the only response.

Muscles were then kneaded, knots were worked out and skin was kissed as Steve pressed reverence through his fingers and into the body below him. When he finally sat back on his heels, satisfied, he could only smile in silent gratitude as Bucky softly snored into the pillow. Moving from the bed with a tender kiss to brunette hair, he covered the sleeping man and whispered, "Happy birthday Bucky."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **10th March 1945** \- 5 days had passed since Steve's disappearance had made it into the newspapers. In reality, it had been 1 month since the Valkyrie crashed, and only 4 days before that when Bucky had fallen from the train.

In the Barnes' household, the mood was sombre as they kept not one, but two sons, at the forefront of their mind on the birthday of their eldest.

Winifred and Becca took flowers to Sarah & Joseph Rogers' graves after breakfast while George sat at the table carving into a wood off-cut; "JBB 03-10-1917, SGR 07-04-1918, Brooklyn, NY" was the imprint left behind and it was later displayed on the mantelpiece next to a rare photo of the troublesome pair.

Meanwhile, in an SSR building Peggy Carter and Howard Stark raised a glass with a murmur "to Sergeant Barnes", and somewhere near Austria, the remaining Commandos were led by Dum Dum Dugan into three solemn salutes to their fallen Sergeant and the Captain that had followed him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **10th March [Year Unknown]** \- The mission had been going without a hitch. The target was eliminated with usual ease and the Asset was simply waiting for extraction.

The television had been on when he'd entered the target's home and continued to play as he waited. As he stood there the picture changed, it was now showing two men; one tall, well-built and blonde, the other slightly smaller and brunette, leaning over a map spread onto the hood of a truck. There was no sound accompanying the images but the words scrolling underneath read "Captain America's best friend, Bucky Barnes' birthday..."

Neither name meant anything to him. The Asset did not have a name and had no need for one.

But something about the blonde's face, crisp and clear even on the aged black and white footage, prevented him from looking away.

So he stood there as it continued to play, unnerved by the attention it demanded of him, sweat prickling the back of his neck as his left fist clenched repeatedly.

And that's how they found him when the time for retrieval came; still staring at a screen that now showed something entirely unrelated.

He was swiftly returned to the chair when they returned to base, the mystery of the blonde man he couldn't help but stare at burnt from his brain before ice froze away his consciousness.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **10th March 2009; Aged 92** \- Mission: Eliminate the target. This time the target was an Iranian scientist, not that the Asset knew that. He only had a face, a location and an order.

When it came time to implement that command a red-headed woman was standing in his way. The Asset didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger; the woman falling to the floor as his bullet travelled through her abdomen and into the target who'd attempted to shield himself behind her.

Mission: Completed.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **10th March 2012** \- When Steve Rogers woke up that morning it was to the initial confusion that heralded the start of all his days since he'd been brought into the 21st century. Where was he? Where was Bucky?

As his understanding returned, so too did the pain of being alone in this new world.

With a cursory glance towards the calendar, he felt the breath be punched out of him as he saw the date "March 10th", Bucky's birthday.

Now sitting on the edge of his bed, Steve collapsed forward to press his face into his hands as he broke down into shuddering sobs.

Had anyone else been in the sparsely furnished, SHIELD supplied, apartment to hear him they'd have been barely able to distinguish the words from the cries, but Steve was alone as he begged with anguish, "Bucky. Why Bucky why? Why aren't you here? Why couldn't I be with you? Bucky, god I miss you. I love you so much and it hurts, Buck, it hurts."

Steve would later drag himself down to the basement of his building and skin his knuckles down to the bone as he endlessly beat his way through the "heavy-duty" punch bags hung there.  
\------------------------------------------------------

 **10th March 2014; Aged 97** \- He knew today was his birthday. Not because he had any actual memories of it being so, but because the exhibition at the museum had said March 10th was Bucky Barnes' birthday, and if he was Bucky Barnes then that meant that March 10th was his birthday too.

It had been less than two months since the Helicarriers fell from the skies and he'd dragged an unconscious Steve Rogers from the river.

In that time he'd visited the Smithsonian more than once, trying to garner all the knowledge he could about the man he used to be, before heading south. He was currently somewhere south of Texas in a Hydra safehouse, judging from what he'd been able to find on the internet it seemed unlikely that anyone else would be joining him at the hideout any time soon.

He was also fairly certain that Steve Rogers hadn't tracked him down yet, although some unplaceable knowledge at the back of his mind told him that the other man would be looking for him, somehow he knew that for certain, even when he wasn't certain of his own identity.

He had no memories of celebrating birthdays, and the Soldier had no information of use either, so he wasn't entirely sure if there was something he was meant to be doing. But as he snapped open a chocolate bar he'd found hidden behind some canned food, he thought that maybe, just maybe, that might be something he'd like to figure out.

Meanwhile, somewhere north of Bucky's "somewhere south of Texas" Steve Rogers stood overlooking an empty field under starlit skies. With a sigh that rattled his weary bones, he pushed his gaze towards the heavens and vowed, "I'm here Buck, I'll find you, I'm not losing you again."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **10th March 2016; Aged 99** \- Two years had passed since he'd been sat in that safehouse. Two years when he'd fought his body and his mind every single day: battling his memory as he grappled with flashes of who he was before; boy, man, lover, soldier, asset, lost... Fighting his body as every inch of him ached; nowhere more so than the area around his shoulder where metal met flesh. He was grateful that the drugs withdrawal had passed long ago, those few weeks had been enough to almost have him wishing for the emptiness of cryo on more than one occasion, but now he relished the feeling of a clear and fresh mind, battered and bruised though it was.

Today he knew it was his birthday because he was able to keep track of the days, and the newspaper he purchased every morning as he headed to the market confirmed it. It was March 10th, and that meant that he, James Buchanan Barnes, was 99 years old. He actually only let that particular thought cross his mind once as the idea of being 99 years old proved to be more than slightly baffling.

Unlike two years ago, Bucky had a plan for how he was going to celebrate his birthday. He was going to make a pie. He'd bought plums that morning and had already started baking the crust. It wasn't much, he was aware enough now to know that, but as he looked around his single room living space with a timid smile he thought it was quite enough for him at the moment.

Unlike two years ago, Steve Rogers was not standing in an empty field. He was still no closer to finding Bucky and was fairly sure that if one more person said "you won't find him unless he wants to be found" that he'd go insane, but stepping off the QuinJet behind Sam and Natasha as they headed to the latest Hydra base they intended to raze to the ground, he tapped a quick hand to his heart and muttered a brief "happy birthday jerk" before reaching up to his ear to switch on his comms.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
**March 10th 2017; Aged 100** \- "Happy birthday Buck. It's a bit warmer here than it used to be for your birthdays back in Brooklyn. Wait, no, pretend I didn't just say that when you're in cryo. God, I don't know if I want you to be able to hear me or not. If you can, do me a favour and pretend you didn't when you get out? Don't need you to have any more things to use against me, ya jerk."

With a heavy sigh, the forced cheeriness slipped off his face and vanished from his voice as Steve sat forward in the chair. He'd placed it directly in front of Bucky's cryo tank shortly after he'd gone in and it hadn't moved from that position in the months since, even though he was often somewhere else in the world.

Now though, he scooted it closer, just enough so that he could reach out his hand and press it to the cool metal as he gazed up at the peaceful face of his best friend.

"100 years old, huh Buck? Gotta be honest I didn't expect either of us would make it to be old men. Maybe you before the war, but we both knew it was never gonna be realistic for me before the serum. Nat gave me a cupcake earlier, said it was for you but that I could eat it on your behalf. It was good, I guess I'll have to owe you one when you're awake."

Leaning back to raise his eyes to the ceiling, he had one final comment before slipping into the usual silence that always resulted from his visits, "ya reckon you'll be back for my birthday Bucky? Not sure I want to turn 99 without you, nevermind 100. Might have to skip the fireworks these days though..."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **March 10th 2018; Aged 101** \- Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table in his and Steve's Brooklyn home, a cup of coffee cradled between his hands and a plate of toast to the side, when an envelope slapped down onto the table in front of him.

"Whassat?" he mumbled through a mouth full of bread and jam.

Amusement filling his voice, Steve crossed around the table to sit opposite him before grinning, "guess you'll have to open it and find out."

Swallowing, he pointed an accusing finger the blonde's way, "you already gave me a present punk, and a card, and a very pleasant wake-up" he finished with a wink.

Despite his words, Bucky was quick to snatch up the envelope before prying it open with his left pinky.

Steve was content to watch in silence as steel blue eyes grew wider and plush lips formed a gasp of surprise as words and meaning were processed before he was gifted a lap full of super-soldier and a face full of sweet-smelling brunette hair as kisses were pressed to his own golden crown.

"Is it real, Stevie?"

Wrapping his arms tightly around Bucky and sneaking a kiss to the underside of his chin, Steve grinned up at him, "Yep. You're fully pardoned and recognized as a POW, the medals are on their way, your back pay should already be in the bank, and you have a passport and driving license in your own name, with your face and your date of birth. And no-one can ever take them away from you."

With eyes full of tears and a smile brighter than the sun, Bucky buried his face into the neck of this precious man as Steve finished, "Happy birthday Bucky."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
**10th March 2019; Aged 102** \- Flicking his suspicious gaze from the leather box on his knees to the smiling man leaning in front of them, Bucky cautiously lifted the lid just enough to peek inside.

"C'mon Buck, open it properly!"

"Quiet Stevie, it's my present."

"Not if I take it back it's not!"

Reflexively pulling it closer he narrowed his eyes in a glare at the blonde, "you wouldn't, now shush."

Now opening the box fully, Bucky found himself unable to form words or even noises as he took in the contents before him.

Luckily, Steve hadn't lost the ability of speech, "so I had no way of getting yours, obviously, so these are mine but I want you to have them Bucky, no don't argue, just listen. We always wore each other's tags in the war, and I've worn mine since I came out of the ice. But these are for you, for the moments when maybe you need a reminder of who you are and where you belong; with me."

Tears trailing down his cheeks Bucky raised his eyes to Steve's, "thank you, Stevie, I don't know what to say, just thank you.." his voice trailed off as he looked back down to the dog tags and noticed something amiss.

This time when he looked back to Steve, the other man had moved from kneeling on two knees to one as he reached out to lift the tags from the box, before holding out the ring that now joined them on the chain for Bucky's inspection.

"I thought this might be a good way to wear it, I mean if you say yes, which you don't have to of course. But uh, I was wondering, to be honest, I've wanted to ask you since the 30s, and I love you, James Buchanan Barnes, so would you.. god, I'm messing this up, but would you do me the honour of marrying me and being my husband?"

Shock swiftly morphed to sheer delight and Bucky flung himself forward onto Steve, arms wrapped tightly around the blonde's neck as he yelled "Yes!"

Pulling him down into a kiss, Steve clarified, "Yes?"

"Yes, Steve. A thousand times yes."

"Thank god for that. Happy birthday Buck"

"I love you, Steve Rogers"

"I love you too, James Rogers"

"No, Steve."

"Why not?"

"That sounds awful. We'll hyphenate. Barnes-Rogers."

"What about Rogers-Barnes?"

"No."

"Why? What's wrong with Rogers-Barnes?"

"I'm older, my name goes first."

"Says who!??"

"Me."

"Jerk."

"Punk."

 

 

_Title taken from the song "One hundred and two" by The Judds_


End file.
